


naiad airs have brought me home

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Background Enjolras/Grantaire, Grantaire and Joly Friendship, Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Multi, Prophetic Dreams, Sheep, This has a happy ending I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: When he loses the loves of his life to a labyrinth of his own making, Joly takes to the sky to escape Crete. HIs grief lifts his wings too close to the sun and he is plummeted into the sea where he would surely have been drowned if there hadn't been someone there to pull him from the waves.Icarus AU of sorts.
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Kudos: 4





	naiad airs have brought me home

**Author's Note:**

> Day eight of The Miserables Month! The prompt is fly. I always wanted to write an Icarus AU. 
> 
> Warnings: No I didn’t reread a single myth while writing this. I’m winging it. 
> 
> Title is from To Helen by Poe.

Crete was home to Kings and Queens who flew above the realm of consequence. It was full of people who queued at their feet to prove their worth, who focused their lives on a pinpoint chance at glory. 

Crete was home to Bossuet’s laughter and Musichetta’s mischievous eyes. It was home to stolen kisses and meals tucked into the shadows of Joly’s father’s latest attempt at that oh so coveted glory. 

Crete was home to myths—the Queen had seduced a bull not her husband—and realities—the palace sent two people from each city-state into the labyrinth Joly and his father designed every season and they were never seen again. There was one way in and one way out. Joly had helped his father craft walls and twists that left no room for escape. It had been built to keep something inside. Something. Not someones. Not two people from each city-state every season. 

Myth—Bossuet whispering against his skin that they’d never be parted. Reality—Bossuet and Musichetta held each other’s hands as the labyrinth doors shut against Joly’s screaming. Their names had been the ones chosen, they were being locked inside but Joly was the one screaming. He had tried to break in, nothing clever or fancy, just his bare fists against the stone and King Minos locked him and his father in their castle rooms because of the spectacle and the blood left on the doors. Joly’s father wasn’t the easiest to live with but when he saw the heartbreak in his son’s eyes he did what he was good at: he created. 

Myth--Crete’s power was all encompassing. 

Reality--There was another world at the other end of the sea. 

Bossuet and Musichetta vanished into the ground beneath their feet so Joly and his father took to the sky. It took them several days, their design was based off a joke drawing Joly had made based off of one of Bossuet’s puns. It was almost easy, creating the arching wings, testing their weight by jumping off the table and sailing the few feet to the ground. It had only taken the pair of them a handful of days to find a way out from under Minos’ fist. 

As soon as the wings were ready, feathers and wax covered every inch of their rooms but they would take what they could carry and they would never return. 

His father let Joly step into the window first. His grip on him was tight, steadying.  _ Fly _ he said, less a command and more a prayer. Joly took his last breath in Crete and lept into nothing. He soared on the breeze and soon his father was next to him, grinning and laughing as the city that had raised them both slowly drifted away beneath their feet. 

It was dawn and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. 

They sailed over the sea, until the sea was the only thing they could see and they passed the point even gulls feared to venture. They were alone in the sky but they didn’t speak. Grief swelled in Joly chest and this was their escape but it didn’t feel like one. Joly carried his prison in his chest and not the wind or the crashing of the waves below him could calm the raging of his heart. 

Joly soared higher and higher, the clouds turned to droplets on his eyelashes, wet his cheeks. 

He flew.

He flew until the clouds separated him from everything he knew and hot wax seared his skin. He flew until the clouds gave way to the sea, his grief caught flame and the sea swallowed him whole.   
  


* * *

  
Joly joked about the afterlife all the time but he never thought the god of death would fish him from the Styx while complaining about how heavy he was. He was almost of the mind to be insulted by it. 

Joly inhaled and choked. Hades swore, dropped him on something soft but hard and pushed him over onto his side. 

The sun beamed down on him and he coughed up sea water. Oh, his father was going to be devastated. What a son he turned out to be, drowned by grief while escaping to the sky. Joly tightened his grip on the ground below him, it slipped through his fingers, pushed its way under his nails. There was nothing substantial to hold on to. He breathed in again, his breath rattled in his chest, aching. 

“How in the name of Hades and Hera and all those other nosy busybodies are you alive?” Hades asked, sounding winded himself. 

Joly opened his eyes, he saw trees and sand and sky. “I didn’t think I was?” His voice was rough and he coughed again. 

Hades was broad shouldered with curly hair and a scar on his bottom lip. Not what he had been expecting but, then again, the gods never were. “Sorry to ruin your day but so far you’ve survived. Can you stand? The burns look pretty serious.” 

Joly didn’t reply, what kind of question was that? What burns? But he found that his arms couldn’t support him as he tried to push himself up. 

“Um.” He said, trying to remember exactly what had happened, and the stranger nodded. 

He bent back down and put his hands under Joly’s elbows to tug him up so that he was sitting in the sand. The waves reached his feet but they were mostly out of the surf. “That’s okay. Here, let me help. My name’s Grantaire.”   
  


* * *

  
It turned out Joly hadn’t been pulled from the sea by Hades but quite possibly someone who was his soulmate. Joly had never become such fast friends with someone before in his life. Musichetta had hated him for the first three years of their acquaintance and Bossuet had been nothing but polite smiles for months. 

Living with Grantaire on the other hand, made him feel like he had been living life with one arm tied behind his back. Whenever his step faulteted, Grantaire was there to nudge him upright. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, Grantaire was awake to muse about everything until they were both back to snoring. Whenever Grantaire started a joke, Joly swooped in to finish it. He was so a part of Joly’s life that he started to feel like he had always been there. 

The weeks slipped by and Joly recovered little by little. First he couldn’t get out of bed, then he was helping Grantaire with dinner, then he was out and about around the island. Small steps but steps none-the-less. The island wasn’t small, Grantaire said it took about a full day to reach the other side but it was deserted save for the two of them. And the sheep. Joly quite liked the sheep. There were goats and chickens as well but Joly suspected the chickens could sense how many feathers he had used in his wings and they loathed him on principle and the goats had a habit of running off during the day, only returning when they were hungry. 

“Who’s Bossuet?” Grantaire asked one morning over breakfast. The sheep roamed around them, Penelope put her head on Joly’s lap at the table and he scratched behind her ear. They had taken to leaving the door open to let as much of the outside in as possible and recently, this included a rotating volume of sheep. 

Joly looked up, his name a dagger and a delight. Grantaire looked down at their breakfast, aiming for nonchalance but there was an interested gleam in his eyes. “You were muttering his name in your sleep.”

“Bossuet…” Joly said, just to say his name. It felt strange that Grantaire didn’t know him. Eventually he’d have to get used to his life being seperated into Before and After but the shock of it was still jagged and raw. “Bossuet is... _ was _ …” but the words dried up in his throat and he couldn’t continue.  _ After. Without _ . How could he continue  _ without _ Musichetta and Bossuet? How could he even  _ dare _ ?

Grantaire watched him for a moment and then asked, his voice quiet, “What happened?”

Joly was nothing more than a body without a soul, tethered to this island by Grantaire and the sheep and the pain of healing. Eventually, he found his voice, “You remember how I said my father and I were inventors?”

Grantaire nodded and Joly had to look away or else he wouldn’t be able to tell him. Some of the sheep near the doorway started making noise and Joly forced himself to continue through it, “Minos commissioned us to create a cage for the Minotaur.”

Grantaire looked up, partially in shock, “Minotaur?” 

Joly nodded, they had built the walls unscalable. He had built it to keep the myths in, so they could never escape. He helped build the grave of his beloveds. 

Grantaire took his hand, “one thing at a time.” Joly didn’t follow his train of thought but he appreciated the sentiment. There was a determination around his lips and a light in his eyes, but Joly didn’t know him well enough to guess what it meant. He drew in a breath and let it go. Nearly a month had gone by since Joly had fallen away from the last of his family and plummeted into the sea and the life of his new brother. Grantaire joked that it was wildly uncharacteristic of him to drop everything and race into the waves to save him but the better Joly got to know him, the more he understood how untrue that was. 

If they were going to start sharing their Befores, Grantaire deserved the full truth. “There’s...I have— _ had _ —Bossuet but we also had Musichetta. Their names were pulled together. Can you believe our luck? I watched the door shut on them together. But...at least they had each other at the...the  _ end _ .” 

Grantaire reached across the table and held both his hands in a tight steadying grip. The sheep continued to fuss about them but Joly focused on the warmth of his hands in his. He was so far from everyone he loved but he had still found a friend. 

“Where did your friends go?” Joly asked. After he was well enough to go outside (the fall had really wrecked him so it had been several days), it became obvious that Grantaire didn’t normally live alone. There were other cottages dotting the hillside, a stable, more livestock then any one man needed and a garden that was quite improbable for even two people. Joly still curled up next to Grantaire each night, even with the abundance of empty cottages, neither of them offered to sleep somewhere else or even on the floor. Joly had missed sleeping next to someone and he had a feeling Grantaire did too.

Grantaire gave Joly clothes to wear that were too small to be his own. His eyes kept drifting to the horizon even mid-sentence. Grantaire’s people were gone from the island and he was waiting for their return. 

Grantaire considered the question for a moment. He had never tried to dodge the question simply because Joly had never before asked. “The where is inconsequential. What matters is that they have been gone far too long and I am overdue for a reunion. Perhaps that’s how you found your way to me.”

“You thought really hard about company and it influenced the direction of my fall?” Joly grinned. 

“Yes. I believe so. Do you want to try to make it up the hill again today? It looks like it will be nice enough if we pack a lunch and some mending that we can make an afternoon of it.” 

All Joly was good for nowadays was mending the clothes of strangers (Bahorel in particular was a name Grantaire used most often) so he agreed and they switched their focus to moving around in a sheep-crowded home.   
  


* * *

  
A few nights later Grantaire woke him with screams. Joly shot up as every inch of him protested against the sudden movement and twisted to look at Grantaire next to him. “It’s just a nightmare!” He told Grantaire who sat up, head in his hands, breathing heavily. Joly put an arm around him and he rested his head on his shoulder. 

Grantaire shook his head against him, “I was cursed with prophetic sight. I am told what’s to come but no one believes me. No one but--”

“Who?” Joly asked softly, running his thumb over the back of Grantaire’s hand. He was reminded briefly of Grantaire asking a similar question at the table. 

Grantaire having visions made sense, he had once accurately predicted where Joly was going to lose his footing and fall on his ass in the middle of a muddy path. It would have been nice if he had used it to save him the embarrassment instead of making sure he was in the perfect spot to laugh at him but what could you do?

“You’ll meet him soon if you’re right. I don’t know why he’s immune. Maybe because he’s too stubborn to be told anything.”

Joly smiled, “what’s his name?”

“Enjolras.”

“Oh.” Joly smiled, his name had come up before. Grantaire mentioned their names without entirely meaning to. He probably sometimes felt like Joly was part of his Before. 

There was Enjolras and Feuilly and Prouvaire (who was the same person as Jehan but it depended on how exasperated Grantaire was with him in the story what name he used). Coufeyrac might be a siren or he might just have a terrible singing voice and at first Joly hadn’t thought Enjolras was a real person. But it was clear the cottage they were staying in belonged to two people and sometimes Grantaire cuddled in the night on instinct (it was fine because Joly did as well and they both needed the hugs). 

“It wasn’t a vision, it was a nightmare.” Joly said because Grantaire still shook next to him. Sometimes he alluded to an argument being the reason he stayed behind while the rest of them went off but Joly knew better than to ask about that. He would have to light a candle and maybe they could take a walk down to the water to calm his mind. The full moon was coming soon so they’d have a fair bit of light if their torches blew out. 

Grantaire tilted his head back, “I hope you’re right.”   
  


* * *

  
They continued on like that, the two of them, tending to a too big garden, shuffling around too many goats and sheep and chickens. Mending clothes, making cheese. Joly wasn’t happy, not really, but he was content, surviving. Grantaire’s kindness and laughter meant everything to him and he would never be able to repay him but Grantaire didn’t seem to mind.   
  


* * *

  
It was a quiet, unassuming night when Joly’s life changed again. He woke up, heart racing and he reached out—“‘chetta—“ he whispered but only found Grantaire’s strong shoulders. 

“Just me, I’m sorry.” Grantaire grumbled, roused from sleep. 

Joly sat up, an apology on his lips but his breath was thick in his throat. The loss of them was drowning him. 

“Okay, come on. Some water.” Grantaire threw the blankets off of them and dragged him into the other room. He poured him a glass of water and Joly held it with both hands. Grantaire dragged him down onto the floor. They hadn’t bothered lighting a candle so they sat there in the dark. There was a sliver of moonlight through the curtains but Joly still misjudged the distance of the cup to his lips and clanked his teeth against the rim as he took a sip. 

“Did you hear that?” Grantaire asked after a moment and Joly shook his head. To be fair, the only thing he could hear was his racing heart so he took a steadying breath to calm himself. 

The front door opened and both Joly and Grantaire flinched but neither made a move to get up. Once two of the goats and several chickens had broken out of the stable and into the cottage while they were sleeping. Joly had sworn it was an attack but one of the chickens had eventually fallen asleep in his lap so if it had been, it hadn’t been a very good one. 

The moonlight silhouetted the shape of a man in the doorway for a moment before he walked with sure steps into the room and out of the light. 

“Grantaire,” a voice whispered in the darkness. Joly froze but Grantaire scrambled to his feet. 

“It  _ was _ a nightmare.” Grantaire laughed quietly and he pulled the man into a hug. 

“We’re back,” the stranger murmured and then his voice went rough as he noticed Joly. “Who’s this?” 

Grantaire didn’t look away from him, “Joly. Did you find them?”

“We were too late for some but we have all the rest.” The man said and this must be Enjolras. It was obvious even in the moonlight, the way Grantaire held onto him. 

“Where are they?” Grantaire asked and the stranger watched him with a curious intensity before he gasped and turned to Joly. 

“Joly of Crete?” 

Joly flinched at the tone, the implied familiarity. Even in the dark, Joly could see Grantaire roll his eyes. “He is of Crete no longer. Henceforth he is Joly of the Air.” 

Joly ignored Grantaire’s teasing. “Do you know me?”

“Of you—yes. Come--we’ve just destroyed your labyrinth. Your Bossuet and Musichetta have been fighting to return to you.” 

Joly couldn’t breath and in the dark he saw Grantaire smile and reach for Enjolras’ hand. Joly didn’t wait a moment longer before rushing past them into the moonlight. 

There was a ship anchored in the sea and a small crew was unloading it. Several forms huddled together but others were moving about carrying trunks and bags. 

Enjolras had said they were there among the sailors and Joly was inclined to believe him because of the way Grantaire spoke of him. Joly ignored the ache in his legs as he hurried down with the help of a cane. He looked at every figured in the dark, they had lit torches and whenever someone walked by he watched them with an intensity that made his feet slow. Finally he saw them. Musichetta--furious and exhausted, talking with a woman taller than her--and Bossuet who was helping a lanky boy carry a trunk off the boat. This had to be a dream. There was no way--

“You destroyed the labyrinth?” Joly asked the nearest sailor.

The sailor looked at him, a hundred questions clear on his face and he looked back towards the house as if for answers before responding. “These are the survivors of the last offering. Are you alright? Do you need to sit?”

Joly shook his head and raced across the sand. Musichetta turned at the movement and her eyes went wide, lips parted. Then she was in his arms. “You’re here.” she gasped and then pulled away, “you’re hurt.”

“Fine. I bounce back, you know this.” 

Joly glanced towards Bossuet who had noticed him but stood still in shock. 

Enjolras neared them, Grantaire at his side. Joly wanted to run to Bossuet but his headache was back and his balance would knock him into the sand. 

“R!” one of the sailors shouted and Grantaire waved back. 

“Be careful with him. He flew so high that when he hit the waves the sea steamed.” Grantaire told Musichetta quietly and Joly would have sent him a glare if he could have looked away from Bossuet.

“What.” Musichetta hissed sharply and Bossuet raced towards them. No man on earth could ever feel such relief as this. All the heartache and grief evaporated and left only happiness in its wake. 

Bossuet threw his arms around both of them, holding them tight. “You were in the castle and we were forced to leave before we attempted to scale the walls and bring you down.” 

“My father and I left.” Joly said, laughing and crying all at once. 

Some of the sailors crowded around them. Joly probably knew their names. 

“Left?” 

“We built wings and flew off into the dawn. We couldn’t stay without you.” Joly whispered and they tightened their grip on him. 

“Did you think I would sit here and wait for you to return with nothing to show for my time?” Grantaire said in response to something Joly had missed. 

“You knew the plan.” Joly whispered, suddenly realizing why Grantaire had never said where his friends had gone. 

Grantaire smiled sadly, “I knew the outcome and did not tell you because you could not believe me.” 

“Oh.” Joly laughed, holding both Bossuet and Musichetta close. “Thank you for not taking away the hope I swore I no longer had.” 

“Anytime.” Grantaire grinned, “you’re welcome to stay and continue to try to teach the sheep tricks.”

“If either of us show our faces in Crete again we’ll both be considered ill-omens.” Musichetta said in agreement with him. 

Bossuet echoed it, “Let’s join them on their crusade.” 

“You don’t have to--” Grantaire protested immediately, his grin slipping, and Enjolras backed him up with a nod. 

“You can stay regardless.” 

“No, we’ll join you.” Joly told them both. It was good enough for him if Musichetta and Bossuet and Grantaire trusted in these people.

“You have no idea what you’re signing up for.” Grantaire said flatly and one of the sailors laughed in disbelief. 

“You didn’t tell him?” 

“I swam out into the sea to drag his lifeless back to shore. The only reason his burns did not develop infection is because they were sealed with the wax that burned him. I was not about to tell him that the wrath of several gods and kings alike would be upon us in an instant if not for the fact they can not find us.” 

“What?” Joly laughed and Grantaire threw his arms out. 

“He laughs!” Grantaire cried. 

“He’s one of us,” the curly haired soldier from before smiled, Joly was pretty sure this was Courfeyrac and he didn’t exactly know how he knew that, “the Moirai have led him to us.” 

Grantaire scoffed, “It was not a god. It was Joly and myself.”

“Taking credit for the new recruit?” Enjolras teased. 

“He sleeps on your side of the bed now. Where has Combeferre gone? I wasn’t lying about the extent of his injuries. He is mostly healed but I would like Combeferre to look at him.” 

“What happened?” Musichetta whispered as a man Joly guessed was Combeferre emerged from the ship with a bag.    
“We left--my father and I. I flew too high and lost him.” 

“We’ll find him.” Bossuet kissed his forehead and then his cheek and then his lips. 

It took the combined force of Grantaire, Musichetta, Bossuet, Courfeyrac and Combeferre to convince Joly to go back up to the house for an examination. Joly didn’t want to let Musichetta or Bossuet out of his sight but they would do their part in unloading supplies and helping some of the other survivors of the Labyrinth find a place to sleep for what was left of the night. 

Combeferre glowed a little and Joly twisted his lips as he was guided into a chair. 

Combeferre caught the glance and smiled sadly, “My mother is Eos. She’s hidden me amongst men. Sometimes you have to lose your child to save them.”

“I like you.” Joly said, it was nice hearing his worst fear spoken so calmly. “Do you think I’ll recover?”

Combeferre glanced him over and couldn’t help a smile start to form on his lips. In the firelight, he glowed even more. “I think if you’ve survived this far, you’ll mend in time. But let’s see if we can discover the extent of your injuries.” 

By the time Combeferre was satisfied with his recovery and promised to make some salves later in the day, the dawn was breaking across the horizon. Combeferre retreated to his own home and Enjolras led Musichetta and Bossuet into the cottage with Grantaire at their heels. 

“Will you survive?” Grantaire asked in a flurry of dramatics. 

“If I say no will that convince you to sleep on the ground?” Joly raised an eyebrow and took a step back towards the bed. 

“Go sleep with the sheep.” 

Enjolras looked from Grantaire to Joly. “We have not been gone long enough for you two to be such good friends already.” 

“He’s taught the sheep to queue at the door for breakfast.” Grantaire said immediately, and then looked towards the door because it was starting to get to be that time. 

At the same time Joly crossed his arms, “Grantaire drags blankets out to the hills and tells me about the stars.”

“If you’ve allowed the sheep into my home…” Enjolras began but before Grantaire could say anything, Bossuet came to their defense. 

“Grantaire has just said that they’re queueing! The visitation is orderly.”

“Oh there’s three of them.” Enjolras sighed but he looked, quite honestly, delighted. Joly grinned and took both Musichetta and Bossuet’s hands in his, just because he could. The sunlight flooded in through the window and Joly shut his eyes against the rays. This dawn was an impossible beginning and it was warm and bright. 

He opened his eyes to see Grantaire grinning at him, he echoed it and then pulled Bossuet and Musichetta towards the bed before Grantaire had a chance to claim it. 

“Oh sure--just leave me and Enjolras to tend to the chores!” Grantaire protested loudly. 

Joly only laughed.  
  


* * *

  
Myth--sailors claimed to have seen a man fall from the sky. He flew too high and had been punished for it. 

Reality--Joly had come home. 


End file.
